


Wrecker Fact No.3: If There's A Will There's A Way, And Wheeljack Probably Has A Grenade For It

by cuddler_of_words



Series: Tales Of The War For Cybertron [3]
Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:44:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddler_of_words/pseuds/cuddler_of_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which being a Wrecker can also mean clearing up everybody else's fragging mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never So Simple

"But why have we been sent to check up on an ancient 'Con fortress?" Strika groaned, drumming her fingers against the floor of the Jackhammer. "There are scouts for that sort of thing."

"It's not the first time we've been given scout duty, I recon they just didn't want to send a team of actual scouts so far out into the plains." Wheeljack said from his seat at the control wheel. Strika stopped tapping her fingers against the floor, instead choosing to drum them restlessly against her knee joint.

"Would've been a lot quicker to send two of us and get it over with." Strika grumbled.

"On the bright side, at least we have something to do," Seaspray said, leaning back against the wall of the ship. "It's been nothing but guard duty for cycles!"

"And maybe there'll be some 'Con's that we can scrap!" Bulkhead laughed, "It'd be worth the trip, just to get my fists swinging."

Wheeljack grinned and checked the nav equipment. They were just nearing the fortress, and it would be visible from the ship's front window as soon as the Jackhammer rounded the cliff-side. At the back of the ship, Strika and Seaspray began to argue over the closest call they'd had, Bulkhead occasionally interjecting with details that they had forgotten. Wheeljack grinned to himself as he steered, reliving the stories as they were told.

"Woah!" Seaspray gasped, breaking Strika off in the middle of a story as the Jackhammer flew into viewing range of the 'Con fortress, a massive steel building dug into the cliff. It seemed bigger than the building that they had originally been briefed about, stretching all the way up the side of the cliff face. Wheeljack flew the Jackhammer in closer, slowly descending until they landed a short distance away. The fortress towered into the sky above them.

"And we're supposed to sweep the whole thing?!" Strika exclaimed, unimpressed by the sheer size that the mission had just taken on.

"Better get to work then." Wheeljack said, walking past her and heading for a gaping hole where a section of the wall used to be. Bulkhead hurried to catch up and they walked in side by side, their optics struggling to focus on the pitch darkness inside the building. Behind him he heard Seaspray mutter to himself as he activated his torch mod and a beam of light burst into existence, illuminating the dark space to reveal a cavernous room stacked high with crates.

"Careful, this whole place could be covered in traps." Bulkhead warned. He stood for a moment and adjusted his optics to night-vision mode, watching the space three steps ahead of him become brighter. 

"This place has been abandoned for ages, there's nothing to worry about Bulk." Strika said, patting him on the shoulder and then walking over to examine one of the crates. She gripped the lid, prying her fingers into the weakened joints, and there was a shrill screech as the box came apart at its joints and spilt outdated weaponry onto the floor. 

"This stuff is practically ancient." Wheeljack said as he reached to pick up one of the weapons, a small hand-held gun, and tried to fire it up. There was a whirring noise in the barrel and then a spluttering as fuel began to drip from the joints. Wheeljack dropped the gun like it had bitten him, fuel still clinging to his fingers.

"Gross." Strika said, pulling a face that made Seaspray burst out laughing.

"How about we get on with the job." Bulkhead suggested, trying not to snicker.

They began to make their way past the abandoned crates, Wheeljack stopping occasionally to poke around inside them but finding nothing more than old weaponry, and out into the corridors that tunneled through the base like an insect hive. Seaspray immediately found the silence deafening and launched into an enthusiastic retelling of a torrid inter-caste romance that he had once had, Bulkhead and Wheeljack roaring in laughter. Eventually Seaspray and Strika conspired together to create a story about the most scandalous affair that they could imagine, a member of the senate that none of them were fond of finding love in the arms of a lowly miner, and Wheeljack started to laugh so hard that he had to lean on Bulkhead for support despite Bulkhead himself being almost doubled over with laughter. Seaspray was poised to launch into the climax of the story when he stopped suddenly, his frame going tense as he powered up his wrist cannons .

"What's wrong?" Bulkhead asked, still breathless from laughter. Seaspray glanced around, backing up against the wall and raising his cannons up in a defensive stance.

"I think we're being followed." Seaspray growled.

"What's tipped you off?" Wheeljack asked, pushing Bulkhead's arm from around his shoulders and sliding his face mask into place, fingers itching to grasp the handles of his blades.

"It could be nothing, light and shadows… but I could have sworn that every time I looked behind us something moved just out of my optic range."

"Alright,' Wheeljack said,' from now on, no more stories and we stay alert. Could be nothing, but if something's out there I wanna know about it before it jumps us."

Strika nodded and her visor shifted colours from blue to yellow as she switched on her thermal imaging mod. Bulkhead gave a nervous glance around the corridor as he shifted his fist into its wrecking ball form, and immediately felt safer for it. They started walking again in silence, their footsteps echoing against the metal floor. Twice Seaspray started, turning around and firing at nothing, apologizing profusely each time when his blaster shots left smoking craters in the walls. Nerves on edge and slightly paranoid, Bulkhead was starting to toy with the idea of returning to the Jackhammer when Seaspray turned around and growled, his cannons trained on a pile of crates stacked up against the wall.

"There's something following us." He said, pushing his wrist cannons up to maximum power.

"I haven't seen anything." Strika said, tapping her visor.

"No, there's definitely something… tell me you hear that too." 

"Hear what?" Bulkhead asked, straining his audios.

"That-- that hissing!" Seaspray replied. The muscle cables at his neck and the backs of his knees were tightening so much that Bulkhead could see them vibrating with the strain.

"You must have much better hearing than the rest of us." Wheeljack muttered.

"Do you really think I'd make this up?" Seaspray growled.

"What I think is that you're stressed, and that we should give the whole job a miss." Bulkhead interjected, walking over to Seaspray and clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Good idea,' Strika said,' this place gives me the creeps."

"Okay then,' Bulkhead said, clapping his hands together in enthusiasm,' let's get the scrap outta here and--"

"GET DOWN!" Seaspray screamed, and the room rocked backwards violently as Bulkhead felt hands wrench him to the ground as something sailed over his head.

"What in the name of the Primes was that?!" Strika gasped, sprawled backwards from where Seaspray had pulled her down. Wheeljack focused his optic lights, sweeping the corridor and taking a sharp intake of breath when the lights fell on a writhing creature sprawled on its back, struggling to right itself.

"That,' Wheeljack grinned,' is target practice."

Wheeljack stood and grasped the handles of his blades, sliding them out of their sheaths as Bulkhead struggled to his feet, focusing his optic lights ahead as Wheeljack prowled forwards. The creature was still struggling to right itself, its arms scrabbling at the ground as its extra appendages tangled together in a rush to find leverage. Wheeljack took a long moment to plan his strike and then sprinted forwards, skidding to a stop just next to the creature. He swung his blades in a low arc, severing tentacle that crackled and sparked, and then followed up using his momentum to slam his blades down and sever the creature's head. For a moment its writhing became more frenzied as its head clanked and rolled away, and then its limbs dropped with a clang against the floor.  
Seaspray let out a relieved sigh that Bulkhead felt inclined to mimic. Strika was next to approach the creature, coming to stand next to Wheeljack and then bending down to get a closer look. She looked up at Wheeljack, who gave a final stab down into the creature's torso. Now satisfied that it was dead Strika began to run a range of diagnostic scans, poking and prodding as Wheeljack removed his sword and shook loose a few drops of energon mixed with internal fluids. Bulkhead strode over to provide more lighting, leaning back against the wall of the corridor with his arms folded tightly over his chest as Seaspray went off in search of where the dismembered head had rolled off to. 

"So what's gong on here, Strika?" Wheeljack asked, sheathing his swords and kneeling down beside her. He reached out to touch one of the tentacle cables but Strika swatted his hand away, tutting at him.

"Keep your hands off it, you'll break something." She grumbled. Wheeljack let his battle mask retract and grinned at her, and Strika huffed in a more good natured manner. "Fine, fine. You can have your answer, but it won't be pretty: I think someone's been messing around with corpses."

"Corpses?!" Bulkhead said, barely hiding the disgust in his voice. 

"You can see the weld marks here, and the wiring is sloppy but functional."

"'Bot or 'Con?" Seaspray asked, returning with the mech's head in his hands. It's neck cords still dripped energon.

"'Con." Strika said, pointing where what was left of the insignia was visible on the mech's hip. The rest of it appeared to have been scratched off. Seaspray tossed the head over to Strika who caught it and began to examine it, turning it around in her hands. Bukhead could barely bring himself to watch, and Wheeljack look similarly revolted.

"What's the bet there are more experiments running free around here?" Seaspray asked.

"I'd probably be willing to bet a few cubes of high grade that this isn't the only one." Wheeljack replied.

"Please don't say that we have to go find them." Strika muttered to herself.

"Think about it though," Wheeljack said," here we were assuming that we just got sent on a job that nobody could be bothered to do, and now the real danger's just shown up and tried to frag us in the tailpipe. Someone wants us to put these monsters down."

"Why couldn't they have just told us instead of springing a surprise?" Bulkhead argued. "Prime wouldn't send us here without a warning."

"Maybe Prime didn't know." Seaspray offered. "Maybe something tipped him off but he didn't know for sure. I mean, he didn't just send a regular team, he sent us."

"Sounds reasonable." Bulkhead agreed. Optimus wasn't the type of leader to make decisions without a reason.

Strika stood from the corpse, flicking droplets of energon from her fingers. Then there was an audible hum as she manifested her wrist cannons and powered them up. "Wheeljack, it's your call."

"I'm gonna head on into the fray. You two got a problem with that?" Wheeljack asked. Seaspray shook his head enthusiastically and Bulkhead shrugged. While Bulkhead didn't really want to involve himself with any more hostile experiments, the prospect of a fight was sending a thrill through his circuits and his curiosity was beginning to get the better of him.

Leaving the corpse sprawled where it had fallen, Wheeljack forged on ahead down the corridor. Bulkhead caught up with him to walk side by side, and Strika and Seaspray began to chat to themselves again as they brought up the rear. This time the group was more wary of their surroundings, treating every shadow and every small noise as a potential threat. The longer they walked the longer time seemed to stretch, and Bulkhead found himself checking his internal chronometer every few minutes. The quiet was making his audios ring as he strained them to catch every little noise, and the threat of more science experiments to smash making was making him equal parts exciting and squeamish. He kept one hand in wrecking ball mode and one hand morphed into his cannon, ready for action.

"Can anyone else see that light?" Wheeljack said, peering off into the distance. The corridor did seem to be getting brighter, and on the wall ahead there was a sliver of light almost hidden behind another stack of crates.

"Blasters up and ready." Strika muttered. Wheeljack nodded and motioned for the group to move forward, his back against the wall and both swords in hand. He stopped just next to the open door and signaled for Bulkhead and Seaspray to cover for him, and then before he could think too much about what he was getting himself into he wedged his foot between the door and the wall and forced the door open, then darted through the doorway. His disappearance into the room was then followed by a loud crash and a string of swear words, and Seaspray and Bulkhead almost dented each other trying to follow him through. They found Wheeljack sprawled on the floor, covered in a thick blue gelatinous substance as he struggled to untangle himself from a mass of cables and the broken remains of a tank. The room around him was packed to bursting with similar tanks, some filled with bodies suspended in the same liquid while others were completely empty, and at the end of the room was a raised platform that housed a hulking mass of computer terminals. And from this terminal a wiry bot stared down at them, his limbs bent and dented as if they had been hammered into their current shape. He looked up as Bulkhead, Seaspray and Strika entered the room, and grinned at them from a mouth full of wickedly sharp denta implants.

"Aw,' Seaspray groaned under his breath. "Frag it."


	2. Making Bad Times Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This tale's thrilling conclusion.

"Well well, it seems the Autobots have come to play!" The mech said, tapping his fingertips together. Bulkhead winced at the noise as he reached down to help untangle Wheeljack from the pipe. Wheeljack growled and spat a mouthful of the blue substance onto the floor, struggling to unwind a cable from his neck as Bulkhead tried to unwrap a cable that had been tangled around his legs. Seaspray leaned down to lend his assistance while Strika watched on, grinning in amusement.  
Up on the platform the mech waited for them to finish, his grin shrinking as he realised that they didn't seem worried by his presence. He stopped tapping his fingertips together and instead started drumming them on the closest computer terminal as he waited. His patience was stretched thin as Wheeljack finally stood up free of the cables and shook himself off, splattering Seaspray with an excess of blue and catching Strika with a facefull of it. Seaspray yelped in disgust and started trying to wipe the stuff off while Strika rubbed her optics clean and glared at Wheeljack with a look that promised swift death. The mech's patience snapped the moment that Bulkhead doubled over laughing.

"ENOUGH!" He screeched, catching the attention of the Wreckers. "You dare ignore my presence? You're lucky that you still have sparks within your chests!"

"Right, right. Sorry." Strika said, crossing her arms over her chest. "And... who are you?"

"You really don't know?" The mech said. He seemed put out by this. His shoulders sagged and he frowned. "I've been down here for years, working on my creatures, single-minded in my dedication to the Decepticon cause! And now you four have the nerve to appear in my most secret laboratory and inform me that you don't even know my name?"

"Don't care," Strika said. "You're working for the 'Cons. That's all we need to know."

"Fools! You have no idea what you're up against!" He yelled back, swivelling to face the large console and hitting a succession of buttons. Bulkhead looked up and watched as the tanks lining the room started to drain, the bodies inside moving in slow jittering shudders as their clawed hands scratched the insides of the glass. Strika shouted a warning and Bulkhead pulled Wheeljack aside as the tanks around them shattered. The bodies lurched out, their movements slow and halted. Wheeljack kicked the cables aside as Bulkhead moved to cover his back and it was Seaspray who took the first shot, aiming at the head of the closest bot. He caught it full in the face and its head blew off, splattering its comrades with blue, and took a second shot that hit its chest and sent it collapsing to the ground. Up at the computer terminal the 'Con scientist watched them and laughed. As the bodies got closer Bulkhead swapped out his cannon for his wrecking ball, swinging it an anything that go too close. Wheeljack followed his lead, pulling out his swords, and together they hacked and slashed their way through the rapidly thinning crowd.

"We've got this covered," Bulkhead shouted to Strika and Seaspray. "You two go after the 'Con!"

Strika nodded and pulled Seaspray with her, the two ducking around the edge of the room to skirt past the melee and head over to the terminal. The scientist's grin drooped into a frown as it became apparent that the two Wreckers were going to reach him, and his head darted back and forth as he looked for an escape route. He settled on a rusting staircase and sprinted towards, Strika and Seaspray close behind. The stairs were treacherous underfoot and strained to hold Strika's weight. Normally she was proud of her bulkier frame, but there were some times when she would have liked to have been a bit on the lighter side. She tried to step around a large patch of rust but her foot crashed through and left her straddling the remaining metal. The rest of the stair frame creaked alarmingly under her weight but Seaspray came up behind her, using his momentum to duck low and wrap his arms around her waist and pull her back to her feet in one sweeping motion. The rest of the stairs swayed and groaned and as Strika and Seaspray reached the top of them and dashed onto the catwalk that crisscrossed the room just below the ceiling, but were distracted as the bottom half of the stairway broke from the top with a loud snap and came crashing down inches from where Bulkhead and Wheeljack were fighting. Bulkhead jolted in shock but recovered quickly enough to smack his fist into the nearest walking corpse, feeling slightly disgusted as its face crumpled around his fist.

"Go, keep going!" He shouted as he looked up and noticed Strika hesitate. She nodded and took off running again, just a little behind Seaspray as the scientist dashed through a door at the far end of the catwalk. Seaspray and Strika followed on after him as the door slid shut on their heels and Wheeljack planted his foot into the knee joint on an already unsteady corpse, shoving it down as he took the head off of the one that stumbled forwards to replace it. Behind him Bulkhead slammed his wrecking ball into a corpse's head, sending it wailing and trickling electrical sparks.  
The last corpse was finally dispatched as Bulkhead shoved it in front of Wheeljack and Wheeljack ran his sword through it's neck cables. Bulkhead watched it crash and jitter on the floor, putting a stop to its spasms with a foot through the chest.

"So, what now Jackie? Can't go up the stairs" He asked, gazing up at the ruined staircase.

"We'll go back to the Jackhammer," Wheeljack replied, wiping his swords clean of energon and sliding them back into their sheaths. "Bet you anything the 'Con's gonna make a dash for it."

 

 

The scientist sprinted through corridors and around corners as such a speed that Strika and Seaspray almost lost sight of him. Thankfully, they managed to trail him by his nervous squeaking which echoed loudly off the walls.

"You think he's going in circles?" Seaspray asked as he ran. His cooling fans had started whirring loudly and all of the corridors were starting to look distressingly similar. Strika only offered a non-committal grunt in reply. She was sick of all this running, wished that she could just transform and mow the 'Con down, but there were too many stairs and sharp corners and she'd start bumping off the walls if she wasn't very, very careful.  
Eventually they were brought to a halt when they turned a corner and almost ran straight into a solid door. Seaspray took at a look at it, taking a guess at its integrity and thickness, and then nodded to Strika who grinned and set to work punching the metal where the two halves of the door met. Before long there was a sizeable dent and Strika was able to work her fingers into the gaps, heaving and grunting and wrenching the doors apart.

"Nicely done." Seaspray laughed as he slipped through the gap.

"Oh, you have no idea how good that felt." Strika sighed as she moved in after him, taking in their surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a hangar bay, rows of small triangular one-bot vessels lined up against one wall and three rather outdated warships parked up against the other.

"He's gotta be around here somewhere." Seaspray said, peering around. The ships were all covered in a thick layer of rust, probably hadn't been used for some time. He walked up to the first one-bot, taking in the sleek curves and the powerful thrusters. They'd been a gorgeous design before 'Con engineering had gone down the intimidating path, all black metal and sharp spikes, and when the war was over they would probably make a good museum exhibit. Seaspray wrenched the cockpit open and climbed inside, running his hands reverently over the raised buttons on the control panels. He was tempted to try and start it up, see if it could fly, but was interrupted by a loud squeal and jerked his head to the source of the noise to see the hangar bay doors jerking open. He slid out of the cockpit, his optics struggling to adjust to the influx of light, and looked around to see Strika climbing out of one of the warships.

"Did you find him?" She called. Seaspray shook his head and resumed his search a little more hurriedly. He was almost at the last one-bot when its engines roared to life, sending him sprawling backwards to avoid the burst of heat. The cockpit was darkened but if he focused he could see the outline of the 'Con inside. The ship began to lift from the ground and its shields hummed to life as Seaspray opened fire but he wasn't even making a dent.

"So long, Autobots!" Came the 'Con's shrill voice over tinny loudspeakers, his gloating turning into shrieks of laughter as Strika added her own firepower.

"Get in one of the ships, follow him!" Strika shouted as she continued to try and take out the engines. Seaspray nodded and vaulted himself into the cockpit of the closest one-bot, but in the seconds that it took him to bring the controls to life the 'Con had already turned his ship around and was heading for the open bay doors. Seaspray pounded buttons and willed the ship to go faster, faster, but the 'Con was hovering almost out of reach and… hadn't left the room. He was just hovering in midair, the laughter over his speakers exchanged for nervous chattering.

"Going somewhere?" Wheeljack's voice asked, and Seaspray manoeuvred his ship further up to spy the Jackhammer hovering outside, guns trained on the one-bot, and Strika on the ground below, roaring with laughter.

 

 

It hadn't taken long for the 'Con's incessant whining to annoy them, just as long as it had taken to get him out of the one-man, cuff him, slap a vocal disruptor chip on his neck cables and sit him down between Strika and Bulkhead in the back of the Jackhammer.

"Can't wait to get back," Strika sighed, stretching out her leg cables and relishing the weary ache. "I'm looking forward to some of Jackie's homebrew highgrade."

"You keep your hands of my stash, you big lugnut." Wheeljack groused.

"Aw, come on, we should celebrate!" Bulkhead argued, earning a grin and an enthusiastic nod from Strika. Wheeljack sighed, but Bulkhead could tell that he was hiding a grin.

"I've already got celebrations in order." Wheeljack said casually.

"You do?" Seaspray asked.

"Yeah, sure," Wheeljack said. "Right here." He swung the Jackhammer around so that it was facing the fortress, then reached out over the console and pressed a button. There was a moment's silence, and then the entire mountainside went up in flames with a bang that made Bulkhead's audios ring. A cheer went up inside the Jackhammer as the fiery mass of the explosion shot skyward, a raging tide of red and blue that fell back to the collapsed mountainside and washed over it as it began to crumble. Nobody paid much attention to the 'Con's frustrated mutterings.


End file.
